


Sold

by WriterHands



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Animal hybrids, Cat/Human Hybrids, Corporal Punishment, Fantasty, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Master/Pet, Nicercy - Freeform, Prince Nico, Rebel Percy, Slash, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 16:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterHands/pseuds/WriterHands
Summary: Percy's a kinsman, which the prejudiced people call half animal and half human. Ever since an attack on his home he's fought against the kingdom's slavery of his people. During a usual slave rescue a dumb mistake causes Percy's lieutenant to get captured and sold to the palace. Percy intends to rescue her, but when he nearly gets captured himself the most unlikely person comes to his aid. The so called Runaway Prince. Forced together due to unforeseen circumstances, Percy has to pretend to be the prince's slave or risk death for himself and his crew.Nico's never wanted to be king. A mistake he made years ago cost him everything, and now when there's finally a chance for redemption he ends up hiding the kingdom's most notorious rebel and risking execution.But it's only when they discover a secret hidden from the entire kingdom when things get really interesting.





	Sold

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everybody! Hope my skillz aren't too terrible and you enjoy the first chapter. But please keep in mind, THERE IS SLAVERY IN THIS FIC. I DO NOT SUPPORT IT. IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED PLEASE READ SOMETHING DIFFERENT.  
> Thanks and I hope you like.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Percy Jackson. This piece of art belongs to Rick Riordan.  
Main Pairing: Nico/Percy (Nicercy)  
Warnings: Slash, Swearing, Slavery, Kidnapping, Injuries, Death, Etc. 

Chapter One: The Runaway Warrior  
PERCY

“Come now, Perseus! Arms up!” 

Percy grinds his teeth and lifts the wooden blade higher, despite his aching muscles. The sword threatens to fall from his sweaty hand; he grips the handle tighter and swings in a high arch over his head. Chiron is pressed to bring his sword downward to parry, leaving his shoulder an open target, one Percy takes advantage of. He spins on his heel and strikes Chiron’s upper arm with a thwack, and rolls under Chiron’s legs before the kinsman has a chance to raise his weapon. 

“That’s it, boy!” Chiron turns to grin at him, but doesn’t offer him a respite. He uses his own practice sword, longer and thinner than Percy’s, to return his blow. Percy’s forced to approach because of his shorter weapon (one of Chiron’s first lessons), but his speed is failing him. He raises his sword to block another attack, and nearly buckles under Chiron’s force. He grunts and uses his remaining strength to shove the sword away. 

Before Chiron attacks again Percy backs out of range, panting, and swipes a hand across his brow. “Can we take a break, Chiron? I have to get ready for the Ceremony and I know Mom will tell me I smell.” He lifts his arm, sniffs, and makes a show of gagging and fanning the smell away. “And she’d be right.” 

Chiron lowers his sword, a smile lingering at the edge of his lips as he watches his pupil pretend to retch. He crosses his arms over his chest and tries not to laugh lest the boy take it as encouragement. “Normally I would say something about there being no breaks in battle, but I suppose today is a special day.” There’s pride in his voice, Percy notices, and it warms him from the inside out; Chiron’s always been hard to impress. 

Chiron levels his sword at Percy’s chest. “Today you become a warrior for our clan. I suppose we can’t have you smelling like you usually do.” He’s smirking under his beard, and Percy’s tempted to knock the sword from his hand, but one look at the sun and he knows he doesn't have time. 

He claps a hand to his chest and gasps, trying not to grin. “You wound me!” 

Chiron raises an eyebrow. “Yes, quite often. It occur so frequently if you followed my direction and kept your arms up.” He taps the top of Percy’s head between his ears with the practice sword and chuckles when Percy squwaks. 

Percy glares up at him, rubbing his head, and gives him a certain hand gesture that Percy’s mother would cuff him for. “You think you’re all tall and mighty just cuz you’re...taller.” 

Chiron was the clan’s only horse kinsman, and stood above them all, which made Percy’s fighting lessons interesting. Especially when he’d first started around eight summers and the kinsman was four times his height. He remembered wanting to quit, but Chiron just kept smacking his head with a practice sword and told him, “There will always be people bigger than you. Learn to fight from the ground and you’ll bring them down.” 

That had been four summers ago. Now Percy could hold his own even against the Alpha children, something no one except Chiron and Percy’s mother thought would happen. When the clan’s council had seen Percy, this little omega boy, bring down one of the warrior recruits they looked like he’d just spat in their mouths. They’d denied him official training before, but his private tutoring with Chiron made him strong. He owed the kinsman everything. 

“You’ll be at the Ceremony tonight?” Percy didn’t bother to hide his hopeful tone. Chiron could always read him and he wasn’t ashamed of wanting his teacher see him become what he’d been training for. 

Chiron looks to the horizon, and a breeze ruffles his hair. His hooves stamp at the grass and he drops a heavy hand on Percy’s head, rubbing one of Percy’s ears. He nods. “I’ll be there, young one.” 

Percy beams and nearly starts purring. “Great! I gotta go, but I’ll see you there, Chiron!”He steps out from underneath Chiron’s hand and takes off down the hill towards home, still gripping his practice sword. The wind whips his hair away from his face as he runs, the grass soft under his bare feet and the sun warm on his back. In the late afternoon light miles of Percy’s homeland could be seen, all the way down the hills to the edge of the valley where the river snaked its way into the forest. 

Percy knew every inch of his home, had ever since he could walk, and though he loved it dearly he’d finally be able to see something new. It was enough to make his heart race and create a grin large enough it hurt his cheeks. 

Everyone had a place in the village, whether they were Alpha, Beta, or omega, and that determined their role for the rest of their lives. Alphas (like stupid Nancy who teased Percy ever since he’d met her) could be their hunters, warriors, or council leaders. Betas (like Percy’s best friend, Grover, and the clan’s resident goat kinsman) could be pretty much whatever they wanted, though most became workers and builders. And lastly, omegas (like Percy) took care of the home and the clan children as a whole. No deviating, according to the council. This system took care of them and the village needed order and stability, not selfish kits like Percy pretending to be something like a warrior. 

Percy’s father had been a warrior. His mother told him so, with this faraway look in her eyes and a pained smile that made Percy feel guilty whenever he asked about him. 

If his father was a warrior, then Percy would be one too.

Percy slowed as his hut came into view, breathing heavily. His mother stood outside the door with her arms crossed and her ears pressed flat against her head. Her tail flicked behind her.

He hunches his shoulders and tries to smile. “I know I’m late, but-” 

“Get inside and get ready.” 

“Yes, mom…” 

He shuffles inside, and his mother shuts the door behind them. Their hut is only one room, but in the corner there’s a bathing nook with a large bowl, a shelf of handmade soap, and a paper partition that separates it from the rest of the space. 

His mother nudges him to it and clicks her tongue. “You’re filthy. Wash up otherwise the Ceremony will have to be canceled due to your smell.” 

Percy laughs, and does what he’s told. He has to peel his training clothes off because they’re so sticky with sweat and dirt, and when his mother retrieves them her nose scrunches up. She tells him he’s a disgrace to laundry, and he laughs again as he scrubs at his skin. 

The water is brown by the time he’s finished and his skin red like he’s been out in the sun too long. 

“It’ll be sunset soon,” Sally calls from the other side of the partition. “You don’t have long.” 

“Alright,” Percy responds, shaking the water from his ears and tail, when something is thrown over the edge of the partition, nearly smacking him in the face. It’s white fabric, and Percy recognizes it immediately. 

A Keptie. The only white clothing ever worn in the village, used for warriors during the Ceremony. Hands nearly vibrating in excitement, he wraps it around his hips and uses the sash to tie it near his belly button. There’s no hole in the back like his pants have, so his tail is forced to dangle underneath the fabric between his legs. 

There’s no mirror in their home, but Percy makes do by turning his head in every direction possible. He knows he’s smiling wide enough to scare the village kits. 

This is it. It’s really happening. Percy’s dreamed of this for as long as he can remember, and now the Ceremony was here, he wore his Keptie, and tonight he’d finally receive his first Mark. 

“We still have to do your Marking, Percy, hurry along.” 

“Coming,” Percy calls, and feels his chest may burst with happiness. He bites his lip in an attempt to stifle his grin, and steps away from the partition. 

“Oh, Percy…” His mother gasps, her hand pressed to her mouth. Her eyes get misty and she sniffs before giving him a watery smile. “You look wonderful. I know your father would be so proud if he could see you right now.” 

Percy swallows against the threat of tears and returns his mother’s smile. “Thanks, Mom. I wish he was here.” 

Sally steps forward and brushes a kiss across his forehead, her eyes warm, always so warm. “Stay there.” She heads to their sleeping pallets in the corner and reaches for a box resting on the top blanket. She cradles it on her way back to him, and only looks away from it when Percy prompts her with a soft, “Mom?” 

She sighs quietly and returns her gaze to Percy, the box held out in front of her. “What’s inside is yours. A gift from your father.” 

Against his will, his ears perk. “A gift? From my father?” He looks down at the box again; it doesn’t seem like much. Still, his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he flips the latch open and lifts the lid. Linen covers whatever’s inside. He hesitates, his stomach tight and his mouth dry, before pulling the fabric out and revealing what’s inside.

Percy’s breath catches in his chest. 

A sword. 

His father’s sword. Even in the low light it seems to gleam and Percy notices a word edged near the hilt. Riptide. His hands tremble as he pulls it out of the box and grips the handle. The blade is slightly bigger than his forearm and wicked sharp, sharper than anything Percy had used before. 

He looks back to his mother, his words almost a whisper. “This is mine?” 

His mother nods and gives him another watery smile. “Yours. Keep it safe.” 

He turns back to the sword -his sword- and something in his chest clenches and he just knows that no one will ever take this from him. Will ever be able to take this from him. “I will.” 

He never knew his father, other than the stories his mother told him. He asked for them more when he was younger, and she’d hold him and tell him all about his father’s adventures away form the village. “He’d always return though because no matter what he saw out there could never compare to what he had here,” she’d tell him and kiss his cheek, “You.” 

But one day, his father never came back. Percy guessed must’ve lost his appeal and his father moved on to another village, one his mother told him was so big that you couldn’t see all of it even when you stood on a hill. He didn’t blame his father; that sounded amazing and Percy wanted to see it for himself. 

But he’d come back to see his mother. 

“Enough dallying.” His mother wiped at her eyes and gave him a large smile that almost reached her eyes. “We still have to do your markings. Hold still and I’ll help you.” She left again and returned with a jar that smelled faintly of the flowers that grew at the bottom of the valley. 

“Hold still,” she reminds him, and dipped her fingers in the jar. They emerged red, and made Percy flinch when she started trailing lines over his skin. 

“Cold,” He mutters to himself and resists the urge to shift. 

His mother paints the markings over the backs of his arms, up his stomach, and under his eyes. They felt sticky and thick, like mud, and Percy guessed they’d itch when they dried. She finished with a dot to his chin and a lingering brush of her lips on his forehead. 

“It’s almost time,” She whispers. “We should be getting to the Ceremony.” 

Her eyes are heavy. He thinks about asking her if she’s alright, but decides against it. They don’t have time, and he can talk to her afterwards. 

Instead, Percy grins and lifts his new sword to swipe at the air. 

The blade seems to sing. 

 

. .

 

The sun kisses the edge of the mountains and lights everything aflame. The air is warm and sweet and smells of summer and Percy can’t think of a time he’d ever been so happy. 

The entire clan is at the Ceremony to watch the kits become warriors, and there’ll be a festivities at the end that will last through the night. A bonfire is already lit, creating swirls of smoke that curl and rise into the sky. The council stands in front of the flames with the Elder Councilman, Elder Dionysus, in the middle. He’s the one that will speak and offer the knife to the kits, while the parents and current warriors stand in a circle around them. 

“We are here today to witness our young become the next clan warriors.” Elder Dionysus has a voice that carries well, even if the rest of him is awful. 

Percy narrows his eyes; Elder Dionysus has never been fond of him and the feeling is quite mutual. Percy will often imagine breaking his bulbous nose when training with Chiron, which the kinsman guaffled at when Percy told him. 

Dionysus’ round face is already red, he must’ve already started the drinking part of the Ceremony. Percy scoffs to himself.

“These are troubling times, my friends. War is breathing down our necks and our brothers are being sold like animals.” There are pauses in between his words, like each of them are their own sentences. “We need warriors now more than ever and we thank you,” he looks at the children standing before him, eight in total, “for taking on this momentous task.” 

Percy wants to look behind him to see where his mother and Chiron are, but he’s supposed to keep his eyes on Dionysus. Grover fidgets next to him and he jobs him with his elbow.

Dionysus reaches into his robes and pulls out the ceremonial knife a bit too enthusiastically and stumbles. “Step before me and receive your first Mark, young ones.” 

The first is an alpha girl named Nancy, the one who tormented Percy for years. Perhaps a bit cruel of him, he secretly hopes she cuts her Mark too deep and has to go to a healer. He’d find that funny. 

But no. She takes the knife and brings it to her palm, only letting out a little hiss as her skin splits open. When enough blood pools she wipes her hand on her Keptie, signifying the blood she will spill for her clan. Both her own and her enemies. This is her first wound as a warrior, her Mark. She goes to join the other clan members to the side, her chest puffed out enough Percy’s surprised she can still balance. 

Next is a beta boy. He repeats Nancy’s actions and goes to join the others.

This goes on and when it’s Grover’s turn he whimpers and barely cuts himself enough for the blood to show on his Keptie. 

Percy is last. He steps forward to take the knife from Dionysus, his heart nearly beating out of his chest and his legs almost numb. You can do this. You’ve trained for this. You- 

“What are you doing?” 

Percy stops.

Dionysus sneers at him, the knife held out of Percy’s reach. 

“I-” Percy falters. “I’m here to take my Mark.” 

“Your Mark?” Dionysus raises an eyebrow so fine it’s almost invisible. “I don’t believe we allow omegas to receive the Mark.” 

The world goes still. Percy opens his mouth to respond, but no words emerge, only a type of choking sound like the wind’s been knocked out of him. His face grows hot and everything else goes cold. 

“Well, boy, step away.” Dionysus tsks and tries to shoo him away. “You’ll ruin the Ceremony.” 

Percy doesn’t move. No. He has to take his Mark, he worked just as hard for it, if not harder than the others. Years of training, years of wanting. He was a warrior, just like his father. 

He shook his head and held out his hand for the knife. “I won’t leave. I’m better than an omega, I’ll be a warrior.” The stares of his fellow kinsmen burn into his back, but he just clenches his teeth and tries to ignore them. Dionysus is the one in his way, not them.

Dionysus shakes his head, scowling. “You are what you are, kit. You’re an omega. The clan needs omegas for lots of things, but fighting isn’t one of them. You’ll never be a clan warrior and now you need to step away.” 

Percy’s hands shake. He know he isn’t supposed to, but he turns to look over his shoulder and meets the stares of his fellow clan members. Most held pity in their eyes, some irritation. It didn’t matter, he wanted to see his mother. He searched the rows and when he couldn’t find her his heart sank to his feet. 

She wasn’t there. 

He turns back to Dionysus, whose hard gaze forces him to take a step back. His chest hurts. 

As the sun sank below the mountains he ran.

… 

Night had came by the time Grover finds him. He sits on one of the hills overlooking the valley with his knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. The night is loud with crickets and animals scuffling in places he can’t see, despite his ability to see in the dark. 

The bonfire made for the Ceremony lit up the valley, and he could hear the others singing and laughing in celebration while he sat as far away as he was able. 

“Thought I’d find you here.” Grover makes his way over and flops on the grass next to him. Sitting is a complicated affair with Grover, due to his bent goat legs, but he manages. 

Percy doesn’t speak, just keeps watching the festivities below. He knows it isn’t fair, but he’s angry with Grover. Sure, Grover is his best friend, but he wasn’t a fighter. It had taken Percy weeks to convince him to become a warrior so they could leave the clan village together, and now simply because of Percy’s biology Grover would get to leave and Percy had to stay behind. 

And he hadn’t stood up for him at the Ceremony. 

“I’m sorry, Perce,” Grover sighs. He slumps forward and starts picking at the grass. “I know I should’ve said something, I just…” 

 

“It’s alright.” Percy doesn’t look at him. “I understand. What could you have done? Dionysus is Head Elder and we wouldn’t have changed his mind.” 

Grover starts chewing on the grass he’d picked, avoiding Percy’s gaze. “Well, yeah, but I still should’ve said something. You’re my friend. I’m sorry.” 

Percy shakes his head and bites his lip to keep from crying. He can feel it building the back of his throat, the corner of his eyes. He hated crying. He hated being an omega. “My own mother...she left. We went to the Ceremony together and she left.” His throat burns as he tries to swallow, and he focuses on the bonfire in the distance until he can’t see anything else. “It’s like he said. I’ll never be a warrior.” 

“That’s not true!” 

Percy just shakes his head again and buries his face in his knees. He’d tried so hard for years and this is where it got him: practically crying and alone.

“Listen to me, Percy,” Grover insists. He nudges his shoulder until Percy lifts his head to look at him. “You’re the best warrior I’ve ever known. Yes, okay, you’re an omega, but that just makes you even better than the others! They didn’t have everyone telling them they couldn’t do it. You did, and what do you do?” Grover’s grinning at him. “You find a private teacher and learn to be better than everyone. You never let anyone stop you and I couldn’t be more proud to call you my best friend. We’ll figure this out together.” 

For a moment Percy just stares at his friend. His lips part as he attempts to think of a response, and his eyes water for an entirely different reason than before. 

Eventually, when Percy still hasn’t spoken Grover’s expression starts to fall. “Okay,” Percy blurts. He sniffs, wipes a hand across his face, and gives him a wobbly smile. “Okay,” He repeats, a little quieter, and Grover beams before wrapping an arm around Percy’s shoulder. 

“Okay. Maybe we-”

A sudden scream erupts from below them.

Percy startles. He turns back to the bonfire, his brow furrowed, and hears Grover gasp. 

“Oh, my gods,” Percy breathes. He gawks at the images, and doesn’t move, doesn’t think, because oh my gods the valley is on fire. Kinsmen are scrambling, and for a moment Percy thinks they’re trying to put out the fire, but then he notices the other figures. Men, humans, on horseback and they’re yelling and using swords and- 

“We’re being invaded.” Percy jumps to his feet. “Grover, come on! We have to get down there!” He doesn’t wait for Grover to stand and sprints back down the hill, like he did only a few hours ago. He doesn’t hear Grover yelling at him to come back. 

The valley is in chaos. The humans race around with torches, lighting everything aflame and laughing in a garbled language Percy doesn’t understand. Kinsmen push past each other in search of safety, and one by one the humans slash their backs whenever someone comes near enough. Percy’s just standing, watching everything happen with his heart in his throat. He has to help, he has to do something...

His sword, he needs his sword. He didn’t take it with him to the Ceremony, it’s still at home- 

Home. His mother. Where is his mother?

A human catches Percy’s gaze. He sneers and rushes toward him on horse, his sword raised high in the air. Percy flings himself to the ground and hears the sword swish over his head and then the human spits at him. He doesn’t waste more time with thinking. He pushes himself up and dashes towards home. 

He almost passes it. Just like the others, his home is ablaze. The smoke burns his eyes and makes him choke. “Mom?” He shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Can you hear me? Mom?” 

There’s no answer. At least, not one he can hear. Maybe she’s trapped inside and he’s the only who can rescue her. He clenches his jaw, holds his arm over his head, and rushes inside. 

The heat is a wall, and the air around him ripples like water. He feels like he’s being squeezed so hard he can’t breathe. He coughs, and screams, “Mom!” like it’s being ripped from his throat. 

There’s still no response. He searches for her, and his eyes snag on a flash of light.

His sword is laying on the table where he left it. He stumbles to it and reaches out for its handle, just to yelp and drop it. His hand stings, but he forces himself to grab it again and grits his teeth when the hot metal bites into his skin.  
He steals one last look around his home, at the flames licking the walls. His mother is either dead or not here He doesn’t have a choice; he has to leave. He pulls his arm across his face and runs back outside into the fray, his sword clutched in his hand. 

Humans are still riding through the village, hacking any kinsmen they come across and hollering at each other. He has his sword now though, and he can show just who exactly they were dealing with. He may not officially be a clan warrior, but he knows how to fight. 

No. His mother. He needs to find her first. The clan has other warriors to defend the village; his mother only has him. He’d find her first and then join the battle once she was somewhere safe. 

Where would she be? Not at home, not where the Ceremony bonfire was. He has no idea where she’d gone and that leaves him with only one option: running through the village to look for her. 

He doesn’t let himself hesitate and takes off in a sprint, hoping he can run fast enough to avoid being a target. 

Fire is everywhere. Never has his village been this bright at night. Everyone is shouting. He can taste the smoke, like charred meat. 

A cat kinsman runs in front of him with blood splattered across half her face. She’s crying, her arms pulled to her chest and her back bent.

“Please!” He calls, and heads toward her. “Please, have you seen my-” 

A human comes from behind her and grabs her hair, snarling, and yanks her to him. Her hands fly up to his grip, and she kicks without direction.

“Stop!” Percy cries. He lifts his sword and swings high, used to fighting taller opponents. He can’t tell what he hits, but he must’ve hurt him because the man grunts and frees the kinsman’s hair. She falls to her knees, sobbing.

“Run!” He screams, and crouches next to her. “RUN!” 

A blinding pain startles him, and a sharp crack. Everything goes silent, and the world tilts. 

Darkness sweeps him off his feet. 

.. 

He’s moving. A gentle, rocking rhythm that threatens to send him back into sleep’s clutches. He’s so heavy, he isn’t sure if he can move. He’s sleeping on his pallot back home and his mother keeps adding blankets, one after the other until he can’t get up. 

There’s an itch. Something tickles the back of his mind and refuses to let him slide back into unconsciousness. You need to wake up, a voice inside him says. You have to get up, Percy, please. 

The voice is familiar, high pitched and scratchy, but he can’t quite place it. His tongue clings to the roof of his mouth and doesn’t allow him to speak. He grunts, and an ache is beginning to settle in his bones. He wishes he could sleep more. 

“Please, Percy, wake up.” 

Wait, he knows that voice, of course he did. He pries his eyes open into slits and attempts to talk again. “Grover?” His voice sounds like he’d swallowed rocks. 

“Oh, thank the gods.” His friend’s face appears above him, blurry and more scared than Percy ever saw him. “I could feel you breathing, but I thought you were dead, and I know that’s stupid, but gods, Perce, you looked dead.” 

Percy shakes his head, wincing as pain from his scalp flares and begins to throb. The left side of his face is cold and sticky and when he brings a tied hand to his cheek it comes away with brownish flakes. “What happened? Where are we?” He goes to sit up, but stops when Grover hisses a warning. 

“I don’t know where exactly we are.” He keeps his voice low, and Percy scoots in a little closer. “We’ve been riding in this cart ever since last night and all I’ve seen are trees. I can’t understand what the humans are saying, not that they talk much. And we’re not supposed to talk either.” 

We? Percy flicks his eyes downward and notices the other kinsmen children on the other side of the cart. Some are unconscious with bloody heads like Percy’s, but most just stare into space wearing sooty faces and dried tear marks. They’d been taken. 

Maybe Percy should be crying, but he doesn’t feel much of anything. His chest is hollow, and a kind of numbness settling over his mind that even dulls the pain radiating from his head. He not able to see much of anything laying down, so he shimmies himself into a sitting position to get a better look at everything. Grover grumbles, but Percy just ignores him and focuses on what he can see. 

The cart is pulled by a human on horseback, one of the many. Two others flank them and more ride behind, each of them covered in shiny armor and have a sword strapped to their sides. They’re on a road, one traveled frequently judging by the relatively smooth ride. Trees line both sides of the road, thick with leaves that could be decent for hiding. His wrists are held together with rope, thick enough not to be broken by teeth, but something sharper would do.

Wait. His sword. He nearly gasps as his hand flies to his hip and grasps only air. No, no, no, not his father’s sword. He promised his mother he’d keep it safe. 

A new thought stops him and the breath freezes in his lungs. His mother. He’d never found her after the raid, and now he’s tied up and surrounded by humans. And his mother definitely isn’t in the cart with him. 

Grover leans in close enough his brown curls brush Percy’s forehead and mutters, “If you’re looking for your sword it’s with that human there. I saw him pull it from you after he smacked your head.” 

Percy follows his gaze. An adult male with a bald head and a very full beard picks at his teeth and spits. A dribble of drool gets caught in his beard, and Percy’s mouth curls. He rode behind the wagon with a bright orange flag attached to his horse’s saddle. Percy recognizes him as the human who’d grabbed the kinsman girl by the hair. He drags his eyes down and notices a familiar hilt poking out of the saddle bag near the man’s hip.

A plan starts to shape itself in Percy’s mind. He knows how to hide and he’s a fast runner, all he’d need is a distraction. The humans only bound his wrists together, they hadn’t tied him to anything. He could run, if he had the chance to. 

And if he was caught he didn’t think they’d kill him. They could’ve killed all the kinsmen in the wagon when they raided the village, but instead they kidnapped them. So the kits were wanted for some purpose, even if Percy didn’t know what that purpose was. 

“Grover?” Percy whispers. “Are you able to run?” 

Grover’s eyes widen. “Oh, Percy, please don’t. We have no idea where we are-” 

“I’d rather take my chances with the forest than with the humans,” Percy murmured, eyes focused on the human in front of him. He nudges Grover with his foot and tries to smile. “Get ready.” 

He stands on shaky legs in the cart, and the responses are instantaneous. The humans all start yelling something at him in their language (he guessed it was sit down or something like it). He wobbles, acting dizzy and confused, and steps toward the man who’d hurt him. “Please,” he says in his own tongue. “Please I’m badly hurt. You have to help me, please…” 

The man scowls at him and barks something, his hand on his sword. Percy stumbles forward and lets himself fall off the wagon with a painful thump. The man’s horse stops and the man leans over to shout at him. Percy whimpers, his ears laid flat on his head. 

Another human yells something and the man grunts. He jumps off his horse, his boots near Percy’s skull, and grabs the back of Percy’s hair to pull him up. Percy lets himself be handled into a standing position. 

And then he reaches for his sword in the saddle bag and brings it down across the man’s face. 

The man screams and releases Percy’s hair to clutch at his bleeding cheek. Percy wastes no time. 

“Now!” He yells to Grover, and darts into the woods, sword in hand. He can hear the other men shouting, but doesn’t risk a glance over his shoulder. 

His head pounds. He pumps his arms and makes himself run faster than he ever had before. His feet barely touch the forest floor. 

“Percy!” 

Grover. Percy skids to a halt and looks back, chest heaving and his whole body trembling. Grover is on the ground with his hand outstretched and one of his legs bent awkwardly. “Help me! I tripped, please!” 

Percy rushes over to him and wraps Grover’s arm around his shoulder to help pull him up. “Come on, we have to keep going! Find some place to hide.” 

All too close, Percy hears a man bellow to the other humans. He chances a glance over his shoulder and goes cold, like he’d fallen through ice covered water. Humans stomp toward them, their swords held aloft. They’d been seen. 

“You have to go.” 

Percy’s head snaps to Grover. “What? No! Come on-” 

“Go,” Grover interrupts. He lets go of Percy’s shoulder and shoves him away. “Go! Now!” His eyes meet Percy’s; wild and terrified but sure. “Leave now or neither of us will escape!” 

He can’t breathe. No, he isn’t leaving Grover behind. He can’t. He shakes his head, but can’t find his voice. 

“Percy.” Grover is crying, Percy can see his tears, taste them, and thinks he must be crying too. “Run.” 

And Percy does.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, friends, that that chapter one. Tell me what you think!


End file.
